


Love in the Aftermath

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: NCIS
Genre: Fix-It, Gibbs/DiNozzo - Freeform, M/M, team fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-11
Updated: 2011-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:05:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 4 didn't happen. Or it did, but it started a completely different way. (AKA Gibbs, DiNozzo, the team, and a merry chase.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a little bit of comment_fic comm fun. Then it exploded and got everywhere. Many thanks to catheral_junki for awesome betaing. Much love to shoshannagold and lasergirl for keeping me company while I wrote.

"You fired him for WHAT?!"

"Insubordination." Jenny's voice is scratchy due to static, but Gibbs can clearly hear the pissed-off edge in her voice. "I needed him to take a case. He refused."

"What was it?"

"That's not--"

"What the hell was it?"

"Ask as much as you want, Jethro," Jenny's voice is pure steel. "It's still not your concern."

"And you're calling to tell me, because?"

"Because I figure your former team is about five minutes away from making claims and calling you to come back and play Team Dad, and I wanted you to hear it from the horse's mouth."

"Not the words I'd use," Gibbs growls and disconnects the call before Jenny can respond.

Forty minutes and three phone calls to McGee and Abby later, Gibbs has the information. Jenny wanted Tony to pretend to fall in love with a woman whose father Jenny's been trying to snare for years.

"You confused Tony's image with Tony's actual personality," he snaps in greeting when he calls Jenny back. "And now you've lost the best investigator you've got."

"He's not--"

"No, he is, Jen. And you fucked it up." Gibbs claps his phone shut, weighs it in the palm of his hand, considers throwing it into the ocean. Before he can lift his arm, it rings again. "What?" he growls without checking the ID.

"Oooh, cranky Boss-Man," Abby laughs a little when Gibbs growls, but not as much as she would normally laugh.

"Abs? What's wrong?"

"Um...Tony's gone Splitsville, boss. He didn't come in today to try and get hired back, so I tried to call his cell to tell him you were on the case, and the cell went straight to voice mail. I got concerned, so I bribed McGee to go by his place after you called the last time, and McGee says the place is cleaned out. Like, in a Tony-packed-all-his-stuff-and-left way, not in a Tony's-been-captured-and-possibly-horrib

ly-murdered, way. Ziva and McGee have been arguing over whether or not to go over and treat the place like a scene."

"Shit." Gibbs grinds his teeth, runs a hand over his mustache. "Who doesn't want to go over there?"

"McGee."

"Remind McGee that it's bad form to accept the sudden disappearance of a fellow agent, no matter how certain he is that said fellow agent left of his own free will. And find me a flight."

"Already booked you. You leave in three hours. Also, it's kind of chilly here, so pack a sweatshirt."

Gibbs grins despite his anger. "Tell me this isn't some freaky plan to drag me back in."

"Just when you think you're out," Abby quips, but her voice wavers. "It's not," she promises. "It's really, totally not."

Gibbs sighs. "Didn't think so."

"He's okay, right?"

"He's fine, Abs. He's just gone to ground to lick his wounds."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

*

The flight is cramped, and the plane smells weird, and Gibbs can't get his ears to pop. When he lands in DC, Abby's there to greet him, waving her arms like he's not going to spot her. "McGee and Ziva are at Tony's place now. I called them while you were landing, and they said the only thing that's weird so far is that he left a couple of movies and his dining room table. Otherwise, it just looks like he moved out. No signs of anything hinky."

"When'd he split?"

"Last time anyone saw him was Friday night after he talked with Madame Director. Ziva saw him storm out of her office, and he left without saying goodnight. They talked to the neighbors. Everyone remembers seeing someone moving, but no one could confirm it was Tony. Ziva said one of the neighbors couldn't even recognize a picture of him. They say he didn't really talk to them much."

"We work crazy hours. It's not surprising."

"It's a little sad, though."

Gibbs gives her a quick, one-armed hug as they walk to the baggage claim. "What else?"

"I checked his bank account and credit cards, but he must have done this with cash, because there's no charges to any movers or anything."

"The place is cleaned out, no one saw him go, and the last you all saw of him was him storming out of Jenny's office."

Abby nods. "Yup."

Gibbs shakes his head. "Jenny pissed him off good, then, if he moved this fast to get lost."

"Yeah." Abby reaches into her bag, pulls out a file. "It's everything McGee and I could pull on the La Grenouille case. It's pretty hinky."

Gibbs flips through the file as they wait at baggage claim. La Grenouille is an arms dealer, a big one, and he has a smart, hard-working, dark-haired daughter who's just Tony's type. Except, Gibbs thinks and bites back a smirk, when it's not. "How long has Jenny been working on this guy?"

"Long. Like, super-long. Like, obsessively creepy long. Imagine your boat was an arms dealer." Abby grins when Gibbs glares. "I'm just saying."

"What else do we know?" Gibbs asks as he grabs his duffle from the baggage carousel.

"Not much," Abby admits. "Ducky's calling the local hospitals just to double-check, and we're not asking the Director for help because…well, it's kind of her fault."

"It's entirely her fault," Gibbs snaps. He hands the file back to Abby, holds out his hand for the car keys. "What's the number one way to get Tony to quit a job?"

"Take away his mousse?"

"Abs."

She grins, bumping Gibbs' shoulder. "Sorry. Trying the whole, be-cheerful-in-the-face-of-bad-news thing."

"I get it, but I need Serious Abs."

Abby gives him a little salute. "You got it, Gibbs."

"So name me the one thing that'll make Tony quit a job."

"Assume his general skankho-ness means he's willing to fake being in love with someone."

"And this is bad, because?"

"Because for all his skankho-ness Tony actually wants all the white picket fence and kitchen curtains stuff."

"Exactly."

They fall into silence, cutting through the terminal to the exit, Abby leading the way to the car in short-term parking. "Also," she adds after they put Gibbs' bag in the trunk and settle into their seats, "it probably wasn’t a good idea to hit him up for the assignment when his boyfriend had just totally abandoned him and moved to Mexico and grown a creepy mustache."

"Abs—"

"You did, too."

Gibbs sighs and flexes his hands on the wheel. "I had—"

"Shut up." She leans back in her seat and crosses her arms.

Gibbs considers how to argue his way out of it, how to explain to Abby that he hadn't actually meant to walk away from Tony, how the whole thing had been spur of the moment and kind of stupid and probably slightly post-traumatic, and once he'd come out of his shock, he was already in Mexico, had been for a month, and Tony hadn't called. "My moustache is not creepy."

"You're right. It's not. As long as you don't drive around in a windowless van or talk to any kids."

To be fair, Gibbs thinks as he pays the parking attendant and merges into the exiting traffic, he didn't call either.

*

Gibbs has to stop outside of Tony's apartment and take a deep breath before going inside. It's still a shock to see the bare walls and empty shelves. All the furniture is gone, save the dining room table, and on it are three DVDs. There are no books, no magazines, no random socks. Even the little shredder Tony kept by the door to get rid of junk mail is gone.

"Boss," McGee greets Gibbs with a nod. "We've been combing the place for the last four hours. There's nothing. Ziva's even pulled out the u-pipes from under the sinks."

"They're clean as a thistle," Ziva adds. The two seconds of silence after she says it, Gibbs realizes, is the rest of them waiting for Tony to correct her.

"Whistle, Ziva," McGee finally says, but there's no humor in his voice, no grin on his face. His shoulders slump for just a second. "It's 'clean as a whistle.'"

"Gloves, McGee," Gibbs orders before the atmosphere could get worse. McGee hands him an extra pair from his pocket, and Gibbs snaps them on before laying out the three DVDs on the table. " _Sabrina_ , _Love in the Afternoon_ , and _An Affair to Remember_."

"Two of them star Audrey Hepburn," McGee says at Gibbs' look.

"They are all in black and white," Ziva adds.

"Most of his collection is," Gibbs tells them. "When was the last time you heard Tony mention a movie that came in color?"

" _Speed_ ," Abby says, "but I think that's because I made him watch it."

"I don't remember the last time Tony mentioned a movie," Ziva admits, and her matter-of-fact tone makes Gibbs' shoulder twitch. Tony's movies quotations have always been one of the barometers Gibbs could use to gauge his mood. The more quotes and trivia, the happier Tony was.

"Abs, take these back to the lab. Watch them. Find me a theme." Gibbs holds out a hand, and Ziva hands him an evidence bag. "And double-check them for any hints."

"On it." Abby takes the evidence bag and starts to leave. She stops, turns back to Gibbs, and kicks him in the ankle.

"Abs!"

"I couldn't do it in the car. I'll call you when I have something," she says and flounces off.

Ziva and McGee exchange a look that Gibbs can't read. They have a conversation with their eyebrows before playing a game of rock-paper-scissors. Ziva loses and curses.

"What?" Gibbs snaps.

"We know you and Tony had sex." Ziva states.

"Were in a relationship," McGee rushes to correct. "And we don't _know_ ," he jabs Ziva in the ribs with his elbow. "We just kind of…guessed." McGee presses his mouth closed, and Gibbs can tell he's fighting the urge to babble uncontrollably on the topic.

"What made you guess?"

"You left," Ziva says, because McGee now has a hand over his mouth and is blushing bright pink, "and Tony got very quiet. And serious. It was…" she purses her lips. "…uneasy."

"It was weird," McGee blurts out. "It was really weird. And we thought something had happened, so we—"

"He and Abby pulled Tony's phone logs from his personal cell." Ziva interrupts. "You learned how to text."

"And we read some of his e-mails—"

"All right," Gibbs says before they can keep listing privacy violations they've committed. "That gets that out of the way." He thinks for a moment, watching McGee and Ziva as they try not to fidget. "Get back to headquarters," he orders. "McGee, tell Director Sheppard what's going on. Tell her I'm in town to help."

"I—"

"You don't rifle through your boss' personal life, McGee."

McGee shuts his mouth. "Yes, Boss," he mutters.

"Ziva, you get back and start making calls. Get Tony's description out to the locals, the airports, the bus stations, the train stations, and the rental car places, then stretch it out two hundred miles for every hour you don't hear back."

"Got it."

"And once McGee finishes getting yelled at by the Director, go in there and calm her the hell down."

Ziva's mouth quirks, but she nods and starts to lead McGee from the apartment.

"Question," McGee says as Ziva opens the door. Gibbs raises his eyebrows in encouragement. "Everything we're seeing says that Tony left of his own free will. All the evidence paints a picture that shows that Tony chose to take all his stuff and leave town because he was fired. Why—"

"You don't leave a man behind, McGee. Especially a man who leaves his movies."

"You think he wants us to find him," McGee says.

"Yes."

"What if he just left enough stuff behind so we knew he was okay?"

"Then he shouldn't have left anything." Gibbs watches McGee mull that over.

"All right," McGee says after a pause. He and Ziva turn to leave. "You coming?" he calls over his shoulder.

"I'll catch a cab back. I'm going to have a look around."

"We'll call when we have something," McGee promises and waits for Gibbs' nod before closing the door behind them.

Gibbs walks from the dining area, across the living room, and down the hall to the master bedroom. He stands in the middle of the room, right about where Tony's bed had ended. There aren't even dents in the carpet from the bed frame. Gibbs gets down on his knees, takes off his gloves, and runs his hand over the carpet. It's dry on the top, but still damp down near the carpet mat. Gibbs pulls out his phone and dials McGee's number.

"McGee," he answers, his voice shaking; Gibbs guesses that McGee lost the coin toss and is currently at the mercy of Ziva's driving.

"Did you pull carpet samples?"

"Yes, Boss."

"Did you notice the carpet was still damp near the bottom?"

The ten seconds of silence answer the question before McGee says, "No." Gibbs waits for the stuttering apology, but McGee just sounds competent. "We didn't want to take off our gloves and contaminate the scene in case we found something that pointed to Tony being taken."

"Good job, McGee. Get the samples to Abs. Have her run whatever gizmo tells us what stuff is made of. See if we can track down who shampooed the carpet."

"Got it, Boss."

Gibbs closes the phone and stands up, walking from the master bedroom to the master bathroom, checking the medicine cabinet and under the sink. He walks back down the hallway, through the living room, and into the kitchen, opens all the cabinets, the fridge, reaches his hand down the disposal. Nothing. He stares at the table for a long moment. The table he'd made for Tony after Tony had teased him about spending so much time with the boat. Everything else is gone, Gibbs thinks, but the table is there. Those three movies were there. It's a message for him. He's certain. He wonders what it means.

*

Ducky is pacing back and forth in front of the building when Gibbs gets out of the cab. "Oh, there you are," he says like Gibbs has just been a little late getting back from a crime scene, rather than mostly out-of-touch for close to three months. "I was sent to warn you."

"About what?"

"Young Timothy has been getting—as Ziva succinctly put it—"bitched out" for the past ten minutes. She thought you would care for some warning, and I am the person Director Sheppard can't watch from her office window."

"She should be pissed," Gibbs mutters. "She lost DiNozzo. She'll be lucky to find two agents who can do his level of work."

"Yes, of course," Ducky replies, tone mild. "You came back from Mexico to help find Anthony because he's such a fine agent."

Gibbs tries to glare. Ducky merely looks back, a placid, unaffected air about him. "All right. Fine. I deserved that."

"And so much more, but we'll concern ourselves with that later."

Gibbs grins in spite of his mood. "Thanks, Duck. Anything from your phone calls?"

"No, and I won't pretend to be glad of the lack of news. I called every emergency room and urgent care center within a hundred miles, and no one has an Anthony DiNozzo on their records, nor any name similar, nor a description that matters."

"That matters?"

"There were some tall John Does with similar builds, but comparison of identifying marks were not a match."

Gibbs claps Ducky on the shoulder, turns him towards the building. "Thanks, Duck."

"It is my pleasure and my duty, Jethro." Ducky pushes the button for the elevator. "Although it should have been yours."

Gibbs sighs. "We're doing this now?"

"Of course not." Ducky leads the way into the elevator, pushes the button for third floor. He presses the emergency button halfway between the first and second floors. "We're doing this now, where no one is around to hear it."

Gibbs sighs again. "Go ahead," he prompts.

"No defense of your actions, Jethro?"

"Like you'll listen if I go first."

"I would listen," Ducky promises, "but not for very long."

Gibbs chuckles dryly. "That's what I figured."

There's silence for a moment, Ducky sizing up Gibbs, Gibbs standing still and letting him. "You left him, Jethro," Ducky says. "He was a very nonchalant wreck for weeks. "

"Duck—"

Ducky doesn't raise his voice. "I am not finished." He waits for Gibbs' nod. "Director Sheppard offered him the chance to run a team in Spain. He turned her down. It would have been better pay, a new country, and a chance to truly use his skills without your shadow hanging on him. I think he stayed here because he didn't want the team disbanded. If he went away and the team disbanded, then you were actually gone." Ducky pauses for a beat. "And you didn't call."

"He didn't call me."

"Because you are such an approachable fellow, Jethro." Before Gibbs can respond, Ducky pushes the emergency button again, and the elevator jerks as it restarts. "While he did not storm out because of you, do remember that he's had a very hard few months because of you."

Gibbs has the urge to shuffle his feet and look embarrassed. He meets Ducky's eyes instead. "I will," he promises. "But let me go get yelled at first, okay?"

"Of course." Ducky smiles, all benign good humor. "Best of luck."

The door opens before Gibbs can grumble at him. Ziva is standing in front of the elevator, arms crossed, her stance wide and her hips thrust like she's ready to throw a punch.

"The Director has been yelling at him for seventeen minutes," she says. "I would interrupt, but you said I should wait until after she had finished with McGee."

Ducky chuckles unrepentantly as Gibbs steps off the elevator. "I am going to call some of the local general practitioners," he says when Gibbs turns to glare at him. "I shall keep you updated."

"Thanks, Duck," Gibbs says through clenched teeth. He turns towards Ziva again when the elevator doors close. "Any hits from the description?"

"Not yet. I have nine minutes before I send it out the first two hundred miles."

"Keep me updated." Gibbs pauses at the bottom of the stairs. The blinds are drawn on Jenny's outer office. "I'm going to go rescue McGee."

"Do not die." Ziva orders as she turns and walks to her desk.

Gibbs takes the stairs two at a time and ignores Jenny's assistant when she yelps his name in surprise.

"Agent Gi—" is as far as she gets before Gibbs throws open Jenny's office door.

"There you are," Jenny says, sarcasm dripping off her words. "Agent McGee, you may go."

"I'd rather—" McGee starts to say.

"McGee. Out." Gibbs orders.

McGee's eyes widen a fraction. "No."

"Excuse me?" Jenny snaps at the same time Gibbs says, "What?"

"I'm the senior agent in charge at the moment," McGee explains. "Letting you into this investigation is my responsibility."

Before Gibbs can respond, Jenny cuts in. "You are not the senior agent in charge, Agent McGee. Agent David—"

"Is technically on loan from Mossad and only has a year's experience with NCIS," McGee interrupts. He straightens his shoulders. "I have more field experience as an NCIS field agent than Agent David, and I will take responsibility for my actions."

Gibbs grabs McGee by the shoulder. "McGee—"

"Mr. Gibbs," McGee interrupts, "the team is my responsibility."

Under his hand, Gibbs can feel the controlled tremor running through McGee's body. He shakes McGee's shoulder and lets go. "Sorry, Agent McGee," he says sincerely. "Didn't mean to step on your toes."

"My toes, on the other hand," Jenny interjects, "You're not worried about at all."

"No," Gibbs agrees, "not really."

Jenny rolls her eyes and slaps her palms onto her desk. "You're retired, Jethro," she says, tone clipped. "You don't get to show up just for spite."

"This isn't spite. This is correcting a mistake."

Jenny arches her eyebrows. "Oh?"

"DiNozzo's one of the best agents who's ever walked into headquarters—"

"I've got plenty of other good agents, thank you."

"Good agents, yes. But not DiNozzo-level agents. McGee comes close, but he's still got a few tricks to learn." Out of the corner of his eye, Gibbs see McGee stand up a little straighter. "He's one the best undercover agents NCIS has ever had, and you sent him packing."

"I didn't send him packing," Jenny says. "He disobeyed a direct order from a supervisor, which is insubordination. I gave him the chance to reconsider, and he said he wouldn't."

"Because you asked him to whore himself out, and he said no."

Jenny's eyes flash anger. "I asked him to fulfill his duties as an agent, and you—"

"Shouldn't know about the assignment," Gibbs interrupts. "I know this part pretty well by now. The point is, you shouldn't have asked DiNozzo to fake a long-term relationship."

"And why not?"

Because he's already kept one a secret, Gibbs thinks. "Because he actually takes relationships seriously."

"Agent DiNozzo is notorious—"

"Yeah, yeah," Gibbs overrides her. "Good undercover agents are always notorious for something."

Jenny clenches her jaw, scrapes her fingernails across her desk. "If you're implying—"

"I'm not. It's a statement of fact. I was known as a womanizer, too, if you recall."

Jenny stands up straight, plants her hands on her hips. "Whatever Agent DiNozzo was known for, and whatever you think I did wrong in handling him, you're still retired, Jethro. And I won't allow you to storm in and steamroll over me to start an unnecessary investigation."

"Tony's been missing for two days," McGee interjects.

"Agent Dinozzo has been _fired_ ," Jenny snaps, "and it is not the concern of this office where he is now."

"His apartment was empty," McGee interrupts. "Except—"

"I don't care, Agent McGee," Jenny says. "If there's no sign of foul play, there's no reason for an investigation. I will not waste the time and resources of this department so you can hunt down a teammate who has decided to run away and sulk."

Gibbs says nothing, watching the way McGee shifts his weight from foot to foot. "Director Sheppard," McGee says, and the respect in his voice is undermined by the disgust that rides beneath it. "I have six weeks leave saved up. I have been informed by one of the on-staff psychologists that as soon as I wish to take this leave, it will be granted immediately for the benefit of my mental health."

Jenny's eyebrows arch again. "Are you threatening me, Agent McGee?"

"No, Ma'am," and the disgust is gone from McGee's voice. He's a perfect, composed agent. "It's simply notice for when I don't show up tomorrow. I'm feeling a bit…unbalanced."

"I'm sure you are." Jenny glares at Jethro. "Agent McGee, you're dismissed."

"Yes, Ma'am." McGee turns on his heel and leaves the office.

"I'll get out of your hair," Gibbs says before Jenny can use the deep breath she's just pulled in. "I'm just a retired agent, after all."

"That's a very good idea," she hisses.

Jethro makes tracks, slamming both doors as he leaves. At the bottom of the stairs, Ziva and McGee are both waiting for him. "Impressive, McGee," Gibbs says.

"Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs wants to ask where McGee learned to be so forthright, but he knows the answer. Tony's brand of teasing, insulting respect has shored up more than one agent. "What about you?" he asks Ziva.

"I also have vacation time and a worried psychologist," she says.

Gibbs checks his watch, then looks over his shoulder up the stairs. "We've got ten minutes, tops, before she comes to check that you made good on your threat, McGee."

"Six," Ziva corrects. "Her temper always shortens when you show up."

"Your moustache probably isn't helping," McGee adds.

Gibbs smacks him on the back of the head. "Rule 24," he reminds McGee and leads the way to the elevator.

"Rule 24?" Ziva asks.

"There's a distinct difference between bravery, courage, and smartass remarks," McGee supplies as they load into the elevator and ride to the basement in silence, McGee rubbing the back of his head.

"Nothing yet!" Abby yells over the music when they walk in. "Except, of course, for one little thing."

"Atta girl," Gibbs says, and Abby beams at him. "What've you got?"

"I did a little research on those movies—"

"You were supposed to watch them."

"I know, Gibbs, but Wikipedia is so much faster."

"Wiki-what?"

Abby waves a hand. "Never mind. The point is, I found out some stuff on those movies."

"Which you were supposed—"

"To watch, yeah. But you need information now, right?"

Gibbs sighs and nods. "All right. Let me hear it."

Abby holds up a fist and pokes out her index finger. "One, two of them are based in New York, and the other is based in Paris. Two, two of the movies have Audrey Hepburn. Three—and I think this is the one that matters—they all share a theme." She beams.

"Which is?" Gibbs prompts her, and she beams a little more.

"They're all May-December romances."

Gibbs blinks. He hears McGee choke and Ziva stifle a laugh. "And?" he asks.

Abby rolls her eyes. "And they were left on a table that looked really well-made, but also looks really similar to the wood you—"

"Thanks, Abs," Gibbs cuts her off. "When can we get the carpet samples?"

"The centrifuge needs another twenty minutes."

"Call McGee when you have it. We should be kicked out by then."

"Have fun!" Abby calls as they exit. "If anyone asks, I haven't seen you!"

Ducky meets them at the door of the morgue. "I have nothing new," he says, "and I've received an official e-mail from the Director to pass along no information."

"Unofficially?" Gibbs prompts.

"Mr. Palmer informs me he can continue to send out Anthony's descriptions in your two-hundred mile pattern."

"Thanks, Duck."

"Do you think he's gone overseas?" Ducky asks. "Abigail mentioned one of the films was set in Paris."

Gibbs considers the question for a moment. He glances at McGee and Ziva. They both shrug. "No," Gibbs says. "He didn't."

"Why not?" McGee asks.

"Because two of the movies are in New York."

"And?" Ziva prompts as Gibbs leads the way out of the building.

"And the other one he just likes," Gibbs replies, thinking about the night they watched it, the first night he'd gone to Tony's, and the next morning, when Tony had put his feet up at work and showed off an anklet made of a silver ball key chain like Hepburn had worn to tease Gary Cooper. How he'd compared Gibbs to Gary Cooper and how Kate had told him to quit being weird. At the end of the day, as they took the elevator to the parking garage, Tony had offered to whisk him away to New York, take the train like Audrey Hepburn and Gary Cooper.

"Without the voice over," he'd added with a grin. "Which had to be dubbed in later because the decency council didn't want people to think Audrey Hepburn and Gary Cooper were living in sin."

"Decency council wouldn't like us much, then."

Tony had shrugged and beamed. "We'll make our own voice over."

"Gibbs?" Ziva asks, and the way she says it tells Gibbs she's had to say it more than once.

"And the third movie ends in New York," Gibbs says, pulling himself back to the task at hand."

"We're going to New York?" McGee asks.

"We're going to New York." Gibbs confirms.

"Where in New York?" Ziva asks.

"I'll know when I get there."

"Train?" McGee asks.

"We'll drive. You two make whatever calls you need to get your leave. If we do this, we're doing it so you still have jobs when we come back."

"You don’t have a car, Boss."

"We'll rent one. There's a company up on Barnett." When he's met with silence, Gibbs turns around. "What?" he barks.

"They let you rent cars?" Ziva asks.

"Yes," Gibbs growls. "I don't crash."

"I don't either," Ziva replies, and Gibbs leaves she and McGee to debate the definition of "crash"—McGee says it includes shrubs, Ziva says it doesn't—as Gibbs flags down another cab and shoves them into it ahead of him.

*

The man at the rental company is overly-polite, calling Gibbs and McGee "Sir" and going so far as to refer to Ziva as "Miss." She raises and eyebrow and rests her hand on the butt of her gun. The man stutters once and stops talking to her completely.

"If you'll just sign where I've highlighted," he requests. Gibbs scrawls his signature as McGee's phone rings.

"McGee." He pulls out his notebook and tosses it on the counter, scrawling a name and number. "Thanks, Abs." He closes his phone. "The chemicals in the carpet are high-grade. Abby called around. There are two local places that use them."

"Either of them a chain?"

"In New York?" McGee guesses. He starts dialing before Gibbs can confirm, following behind Gibbs and Ziva as they walk into the parking lot and load into the SUV. "First one's completely local," he says. "The second is originally based in Long Island, owned by a woman named Susanne Paddington. She's expanded the business southward in the last few years."

"Paddington…" Gibbs mutters as he pulls into traffic. He's heard it, he knows.

"It is a bear," Ziva says from the backseat. "He wears a coat and hat."

"It's DiNozzo's mother's maiden name," Gibbs says as the information slides into place. "I bet it's a family business."

"He doesn't talk to his family," McGee says. "Why would he use their business?"

"To clue us in," Gibbs explains. "Because he's pissed off, but he wants us to know he's okay."

"The same way he left the movies and the table?"

"Yeah," Gibbs answers, but he's not sure he believes it. Tony may have just been in a hurry and had to call in a favor from some cousin or aunt. McGee and Ziva don't ask any more questions, and they travel in silence until Ziva's phone goes off.

"Agent David."

Gibbs can't hear the other side of the conversation, but he sees the way Ziva goes tense. He spots an exit sign with gas station logos and cuts off two lanes of traffic to get on the ramp. Ziva's still on the phone when he pulls up to the pump, and Gibbs points to McGee. "Coffees all around and snacks."

"What—"

"Doesn't matter."

McGee glances over his shoulder at Ziva, gives Gibbs a nod. "Honk twice if I take too long," he says, and he scrambles out of the car.

Gibbs turns in his seat to watch Ziva finish the call. "I see," she says. "I understand." She disconnects the call with a jab of her finger and glares past Gibbs. "Director Sheppard is displeased," she says, voice even. "I am," Ziva purses her lips like she's sucked a lemon, " _defecting_."

"We can leave you here," Gibbs offers. "You can get back to headquarters, tell her you were trying to ferret out information."

"She will not believe it."

"You could make her believe you."

Ziva looks Gibbs in the eyes. "No. I have built my bed. I will lie in it."

The two-second pause happens again, and Gibbs can't bring himself to correct her. "I'll do what I can to keep you on the team," he promises.

"You're coming back?" she asks. "If you do not come back, you can't do much."

"Maybe."

"And you will shave the moustache when you return?"

Gibbs rolls his eyes. "Shut up." He turns around to face forward again, catches Ziva's smile in the rearview. He taps the horn twice, and after exactly ten seconds, McGee comes out of the gas station, coffees in a carrying tray, a plastic bag of snacks in his other hand.

"Ready then?" McGee asks as he passes out the coffee.

"Ready," Ziva says.

"Ready," Gibbs confirms. He takes a long draw of his coffee and pulls out of the gas station, merging back into traffic at a hard enough angle that even Ziva looks a little fearful when he glances in the mirror.

*

Abby calls again as they start seeing exits for New York City. "I've been checking for Tony's phone signal since the other day," she says, her voice echoing when McGee turns on speakerphone. "It blipped about an hour ago. He's at a hotel in Long Island. It's called Danfords. It's pretty swanky, and they say they don't have an Anthony DiNozzo in their records. Permission to hack."

"Denied." Gibbs switches lanes to take the exit towards Long Island. "We'll handle it in person. Let Ducky know you got the signal. Have him cancel the search."

"Already done. Also, the Director's been circulating a memo that says you're not allowed at headquarters, Gibbs, and anyone caught assisting you in any type of investigation is going to get suspended without pay."

"Abs—"

"Got it covered. I had to run out for another Caf Pow, anyway. Seemed like a good time to make a phone call."

"Good job, Abs."

"Aww, Gibbs, you're so sweet."

"Abs."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going. Anyone asks, you're a double-agent, and I'm selling secrets."

"Abs."

"Kidding! And I'm nowhere near headquarters, so don't worry about me. Just get Tony back here. McGee won't bring me Caf Pows."

"Because you start to vibrate," McGee interjects.

"And babble more," Ziva adds.

"We're on it, Abs," Gibbs tells her. "We'll call you when we know something."

"You'd better. I still know more about computers than you, even if you have figured out texting. Hey, do you know about sexting?"

"Goodbye, Abs," Gibbs says, and McGee disconnects the call. "Don't define it," he orders as Ziva starts to smirk. "I can figure it out on my own. Stay on task."

The rest of the ride to Long Island is silent. Gibbs parks a block and a half from the hotel and holds up his hand before they all pile out. "We're civilians," he says. "We're three people looking for a friend."

"You want us to take our guns off?" McGee asks.

"No. Just make sure they can't be seen." Gibbs waits for them to rearrange their jackets, then he nods. "All right. Let's go. Follow my lead."

The front desk clerk is a man in his forties or fifties. His tie is perfectly centered, the color matching the tiles on the lobby floor, and his hair is slicked back from his forehead. He eyes Gibbs, McGee, and Ziva as they walk up to the desk, looks down his nose when Gibbs puts his arms on the counter. "How may I help you," he pauses for a sharp second, "Sir?"

Gibbs reaches into his pocket, pulls out his wallet. He flips through it and pulls out the picture of Tony he's been keeping behind his credit cards. "Looking for this man. He's a personal friend."

The clerk flicks his eyes at the photograph. "I don’t recognize him. Perhaps you should try a," the sharp second pause again, "different hotel."

Gibbs gives the man a long, hard look. "All right," he says. He tucks away the photo. "We're looking for Anthony DiNozzo. We know he's here. We're concerned for him, and she—" he jerks a thumb in Ziva's direction, "will break your thumbs if I ask. So, let's try this again. What's the room number from Anthony DiNozzo?"

"No one by that name is registered at this hotel."

"Ziva." Gibbs steps back. Ziva steps up. She smiles. The clerk goes pale. She curls her fingers around his left thumb.

"No one—" the clerk starts to say. Ziva bends his thumb back half an inch. "He's here!" the clerk almost yells. "He promised a very generous tip if I didn't release his information."

"You just took his word?" McGee asks. "You didn't demand the money up front?"

"He's been here before," Gibbs states.

"He comes in every few years. He stays a week or two, and then he leaves."

"And his family?"

The clerk straightens his tie. "Have never been by."

"So you know them as well," Ziva says.

"He's a DiNozzo," the clerk replies, his tone a shade from horribly shocked.

"Room number," Gibbs barks.

"327."

"McGee, call Abby and tell her we've found him. Ziva, let go of the man's thumb. Both of you stay down here."

"Boss—" McGee starts, but Gibbs glares him into submission. "Calling Abby, Boss."

Gibbs strides to the elevator, jams his thumb against the call button, and breathes a sigh of relief when the door opens immediately. He flexes his hands as the elevator climbs to the third floor and nearly knocks down a family as he hustles off the elevator.

324\. 325. 326. 327.

Gibbs stands in front of the door for a moment and listens. There's a murmur of noise in the room, either the television or the radio, but no other sounds. Gibbs lifts his hand, pauses, and knocks. He concentrates on the sounds behind the door. They're almost muffled to silence, but Gibbs can make out the squeak of a set of springs and the shuffle of Tony's feet across the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

The door opens. Tony stands framed in the doorway, light spilling around him from the picture window on the opposite wall. There's a coffee cup in his left hand. His right is still holding the doorknob. He stares at Gibbs for a second, then two, then five. "…the hell?"

"You stormed out of headquarters, turned off your phone, and cleared out of your apartment." Gibbs says, surprised at the gruffness in his voice. "You think I wouldn't show up to drag your ass back to work?"

Tony blinks. He takes a long drink of his coffee, his eyes never leaving Gibbs. "No," he says, voice light but dangerous. "I didn't."

"Then you should have hidden out somewhere I don't know about." Gibbs steps forward meaning to push Tony back into the room. Tony doesn't budge, and they bump chests. "You shouldn't have hidden out in the hotel where I found you the first time."

"Told you the first time, if you can't be with your family—"

"Be near your family," Gibbs finishes. Their first meeting flashes in his memory. The call from Miller, an old platoon buddy who'd retired from the Marines and gone to work as a Baltimore detective. Miller had promised a great agent for at least two years if Gibbs could track him down. "He's the best undercover I've seen, Gibbs, but he's got a hair trigger."

"How bad?"

"According to his former bosses in Peoria and Philadelphia, once he quits, he's gone."

"Gone?"

"I've got it on good authority that after he quit here, he was moved out of his apartment in 24 hours."

Gibbs had whistled, thanked Miller, and headed down to Abby's lab. Abby had found him in less than an hour. Gibbs had driven up that day, knocked on the door and been greeted with a blinding bright smile that had fallen into something soft and careful and a little scared when Gibbs had made his offer.

He remembers the way Tony said it the first time, "If you can't be with your family," and he'd given a self-deprecating smirk, "be near your family." The smiles had been great, and they'd become Tony's joke—everyone at NCIS knew about Tony getting hired for his "smile"—but it was that smirk, the tone, the slight hopeful edge, that had made Gibbs decide DiNozzo was going to be an agent, and none of that, 'two years and gone' bullshit.

"Five years, Dinozzo. Beat your records from all your old precincts."

"Yay." Tony presses a little harder against Gibbs. "And if you don't mind, I'm waiting for a bastard to show up and offer me a job."

"I'm right here."

"You don't work anymore, remember? You're…retired." He says the word with the same down-the-nose superiority as the clerk downstairs. "You grew a moustache to celebrate, I see."

"Like it?"

"You look like a pedophile."

"I'll shave it."

"I'm sure your next ex-wife will appreciate the effort."

"What about you?"

Tony lifts his coffee mug again, takes a drink six inches from Gibbs' face. "What about me?"

"You pack up your whole life in less than 48 hours, move out in a way that the neighbors know you did but can't confirm it's you, and then you left the table. And those movies."

"Movers must have forgotten them."

"And you used some family member based up here to get your carpets clean."

"She cut me a deal."

"Sure." Gibbs stares into Tony's eyes, lifts a hand from his side and presses it to Tony's waist. "You gonna invite me in?"

"You going to leave if you take another explosion to the head?"

"I don't plan to take another explosion to the head."

"That wasn't the question."

Gibbs presses his hand more firmly against Tony's side, watches Tony's face for disinterest or anger. All he sees is Tony's eyes, the curve of his jaw, and the length of his neck. Like Tony's here and solid but not quite paying attention. "No," Gibbs breathes out. "I'm not leaving again."

Tony eyes him, looking for sincerity, Gibbs is sure, and something else he can't pinpoint. Tony takes a step backwards, another, until he's standing to the side of the door. He gestures with his coffee cup. "Won't you come in?"

Gibbs steps into the room, whistles under his breath as he checks out the size of the place. It's a suite, with a full living room and a bedroom off to the left. There's a kitchenette with a sink and full-sized refrigerator. "Last time I was here, you were in a basic king-sized."

"Last time you were here was five years ago," Tony reminds him. "Some of my investments have taken me up in the world."

Gibbs walks over to the coffee pot, opens cupboards until he finds a mug. "McGee and Ziva are downstairs," he says. "They know."

"About what?"

"That you left because Jenny tried to use you as a glorified gigolo. That you have enough cash hidden away that you can make a quick escape." Gibbs sips his coffee and walks to a set of armchairs. There's a crossword on the table beside one of them. He sits in the other. "That you and I had a relationship."

Tony sits in the chair across from Gibbs. He puts down his coffee mug and links his hands, resting them in his lap. "Hacked?"

"Oh, yeah." Gibbs watches Tony fight the smile off of his face. The feeling in the room changes, from cautious welcome to expectation, and when Tony reaches for his coffee mug again, Gibbs knows he has to be the one to break the silence. "You left the table," he starts. "And _Love in the Afternoon_. I'm assuming those were hints."

"To what?"

The problem with good undercover agents, Gibbs knows, is their ability to sound completely uninterested when they are, in reality they want information. Tony's face is bland, watching Gibbs like they're having a conversation about a finished case or the price of gas. "You wanted me to find you," Gibbs says. "You left the table and the first movie we watched at your place."

"I also left two other movies."

"Set in New York. And then you just happened to turn on your phone long enough for Abby to pinpoint you."

Tony's face gives away nothing. "Did I?"

"And Abby sent us here, and we got to threaten the desk clerk."

"He's kind of an ass."

Gibbs smirks. "He is. Tell me you wanted to be found."

"I left behind a few things. That's all."

"Tell me you wanted to be found."

Tony leans back in his chair, sticks his legs out in front of him. He looks Gibbs over from his toes to the top of his head, stopping to shake his head at the moustache. "Tell me you wanted to find me."

He could just say it, Gibbs knows, deliver it as the fact it is. Tony will believe him, will read his sincerity. But he also knows what he's done to Tony, leaving like he did, handing in his resignation and leaving Tony and the rest of them to fend for themselves with no warning and no help. Knows how terribly Tony reacts to people he cares about voluntarily dropping out of his life. If he doesn't explain, Tony will still assume, deep down, that it's him. That's he's done something, yet again, to make someone walk away from him.

"Jenny called to tell me she'd fired you. I called McGee and Abby to find out why. Three hours later, I was on a flight into D.C. Would have been sooner, but Abby booked the flight."

"That wasn't my question."

"I'm getting there." Gibbs leans back in his chair, sticks out his legs so that he can tap Tony's foot with his own if he wants. "Tell me you left the table on purpose."

Tony's lips quirk up in a small smile. "I left the table on purpose."

"And the movies."

"I'll only confirm the table."

Gibbs feels himself smile. "Fine. You left the table on purpose."

"Yes."

"As a note to me."

Tony points his toes and rotates his ankles, almost—but not quite—touching Gibbs' feet. "Yes."

"Because you knew word would get back to me."

"No." Tony shakes his head. "I didn't know that."

"How could you not know that?"

Tony's jaw twitches. He takes a drink from his coffee, and Gibbs can see his hand shaking. "I could have assumed you would find out," Tony says, his tone wavering between even and angry, "if you'd bothered to call in the last three months."

Gibbs breathes out hard. "I deserved that."

"And so much more," Tony mutters. He juts out his chin when Gibbs glares at him. "I've got a list."

"I bet." Gibbs shifts his foot, taps it against Tony's. Tony doesn't move. "Five years," Gibbs says, "and you can still pack up and move in less than a day."

"Why stick around once the job is finished?" Tony asks.

Gibbs watches Tony try to keep his face bland. "You've jabbed and insulted everyone you've worked with, been occasionally insubordinate, and been—quite possibly—the most self-destructive undercover agent who doesn't have a death wish." Gibbs stands up, takes the two steps to Tony's chair, and leans down, his hands clamping down on the armrests, trapping Tony in his seat. "You tried not to do it, Tony, but you put down roots, and they're downstairs right now sneering at the clerk. Two of them are back at headquarters, flaunting a direct order from Jenny to make sure you're safe. Hell, Palmer was assisting when we left. And I'm right here, in your face, having dragged my ass out of Mexico, letting everyone insult my mustache, and I'm telling you that I wanted to find you."

Tony raises his eyebrows and sits up straight. When he tilts his head, he and Gibbs are nearly nose-to-nose. "You could have called."

"I'm a bastard."

"You could have sent a text."

"I'm a bastard."

"You could have sent a fucking carrier pigeon."

"Still a bastard."

Tony narrows his eyes. "Yeah. You are." He lifts a hand, wraps it around the back of Gibbs' neck. "I wanted you to find me."

"Goddamn right you did." Gibbs dips his head, pauses, lets Tony pull him in the rest of the way into the kiss.

Tony kisses him hard, twisting his fingers into the hair at the nape of Gibbs' neck. His other hand wraps around Gibbs' bicep, nails digging in even through Gibbs' shirt. When he pulls away, he's panting, eyes bright. "If you're not staying, I get to punch you in the mouth."

"I'm staying," Gibbs promises.

"Good." Tony licks his lips and takes his hand off Gibbs' bicep. "I'm willing to forego all long conversations about our feelings if you are."

"Agreed."

Tony smirks. "Thought so." He puts a hand on Gibbs' chest and pushes him backwards so he can stand up. "What's next?"

Gibbs considers his options. "We both need to get re-instated," he says, "and I've got to find a way to get Ziva and McGee back to work without Jenny being able to toss them both out for helping me with finding you." Tony looks stricken, and Gibbs points a finger at him. "Nobody made them come along, DiNozzo. Get that look off your face."

"If they're fired because—"

"They're not. Or, if they are, they won't be for long. I've got it handled."

"How deep are they in?"

"They're both taking psychologist prescribed leave. They just happened to request it after Jenny spent a solid seventeen minutes yelling at McGee."

Tony puts his hands over his face. "Shit."

"Not your fault, Tony. This is what family does." Gibbs steps close, pulls Tony's hands away from his face. "And I think I've still got enough favors stocked away to get us all taken care of."

Tony breathes in deep, and Gibbs watches as he settles himself, rolling his shoulders and working his jaw back and forth. "All right," Tony agrees. "Let's do this."

Gibbs looks around the room. "Where's your go-bag?"

"In the closet." Tony grabs Gibbs' arm as he turns to retrieve it. "Hold on. There's one more thing."

*

McGee's sitting in a chair, flipping through a magazine, and Ziva's pacing the perimeter of the lobby when Gibbs and Tony step off the elevator. They both stop what they're doing and look up as Gibbs and Tony walk across the lobby. McGee stands, breaks into a grin, and bounces on his toes.

"You're coming back?" he asks.

Tony grins. "Apparently, Probie."

"And you?" Ziva asks Gibbs. "Are you coming back as well?"

"Someone's got to make sure you three stay employed," Gibbs replies. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the keys to the rental car. "Ziva, start the car. McGee call Abby again and let her know things are settled. Tony and I are going to settle the bill." McGee and Ziva don’t move for a second, both staring at Gibbs. "Now." Gibbs snaps, and they make tracks for the door.

"And just when I got them trained," Tony mutters. "I had Probie bringing me coffee."

"What about Ziva?"

"She'd stopped threatening to kill me."

"Not bad for three months."

"Thanks."

The desk clerk smiles when Tony steps up to the counter and pulls out his wallet. "Checking out, Mr. DiNozzo?"

"Yes."

"Let me bring up your bill." The desk clerk turns to type on the computer and spares Gibbs a short glance. "I see you found your," he pauses for a beat, "friend."

"Yes, he did," Tony says, voice smooth.

"Your bill, Sir."

"Thank you, Brandt." Tony takes the print-out of the bill and skims it. "Everything looks to be in order." He opens his wallet and pulls out a stack of bills. "This should cover everything."

Brandt smiles, counts the money, and tucks one of the bills into his own pocket. "Thank you, Mr. DiNozzo." He glances at Gibbs again. "If I may say so, I preferred the moustache."

"Noted," Gibbs replies, and he tucks his hand into Tony's elbow, pulling him towards the door. "He's an ass," Gibbs says to Tony loud enough that he hears Brandt sniff in disapproval.

"He's paid very well to be an ass," Tony tells him. "And until you came in and scared him, he was the most reliable closed-mouth in Long Island."

"He'll recover."

"He should. I won't need to come back here for awhile."

Gibbs tightens his grip on Tony's elbow for a second. "Good to hear," he says as he leads Tony to the car.

Ziva and McGee are in the back seat of the SUV when Tony and Gibbs cross the street. "I'm driving," Tony says.

"Like hell," Gibbs replies.

"You have to start calling in favors," Tony points out. "You can't do that and drive."

Gibbs glances at his watch. It's just after six. "All right," he agrees. He climbs into the passenger seat, catches McGee's surprised look from the corner of his eye. "You want me to drive, McGee?" he asks.

McGee opens his mouth, closes it. "As long as it's not Ziva," he says, and manages to dodge Ziva's slap.

Tony gets into the driver's seat. "Seatbelts, kiddies," he says. When he glances over his shoulder to the back seat, Ziva punches him in the arm. "Hey!"

"For leaving," she says, then turns and looks out the window.

Tony grins, then winces as McGee slaps him in the back of the head. "Probie!"

"Tony," Gibbs says before McGee can defend himself, "you're lucky that wasn't from me."

Tony eyes Gibbs, glances in the rearview mirror and nods. A second later, Ziva slaps Gibbs on the back of the head. "We're even," Tony declares and navigates into traffic.

Gibbs shakes his head and pulls out his cell, dialing a number from memory.

The phone rings twice before the line is picked up. "Office of the Secretary of the Navy. This is Nicole."

"Jethro Gibbs from NCIS," Gibbs replies. "I need to speak with the SecNav."

"He's in meetings all day, Mr. Gibbs. I'm happy to schedule a callback."

"It's of high importance, Nicole. I need you to take a note into him that has my name on it."

"The Secretary of the—"

"Nicole," Gibbs puts steel into his voice, "it's important."

Nicole does not respond immediately, but Gibbs can hear something getting written down. "If you'll give me a moment, Sir, I'll see if the SecNav can speak with you."

"Thank you." Gibbs grimaces at the hold music and pulls the phone away from his ear. In the back seat, Ziva is explaining to McGee how best to break a man's thumbs. Tony has one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the tuner knob on the radio looking for a station. The hold music cuts off.

"Mr. Gibbs?"

"I'm here."

"One moment for the SecNav, please." There's no hold music this time, just the click of the line being transferred.

"Jethro?" The SecNav sounds shocked. "I thought you'd retired."

"I did."

The SecNav laughs. "Get bored already?"

Gibbs looks at Tony. "Something like that. I'd like to be reinstated."

"You can talk to Director Sheppard about that. She's the one who'll have to put through the paperwork."

"Sir, if I could go to Director Sheppard, I would, but there's been a complication."

There's silence on the other end of the line. "As much as it might later incriminate me as an accessory, I suppose you'll have to tell me what you did."

McGee yelps in the back seat, and Gibbs watches Tony grin when he glances in the mirror. "It was more of a team effort, Sir."

"Always is with you, Gibbs." There's a creaking sound, like the SecNav is getting comfortable in his chair. "Give me the whole thing, Gibbs," he orders. "Or enough that the details you leave out aren't ones I need to make this work."

Gibbs takes a moment to figure out where to start. "What do you know about La Grenouille?"

*

An hour later, as Tony takes an exit to find a gas station, Gibbs closes his phone and rubs his eyes. "All right," he says as Tony clicks off the radio, "The SecNav's going to make some calls. Said it should take a couple of hours."

"I called Abby while you were on with the SecNav," McGee says, "she's going to forward him the La Grenouille file."

"Good job, McGee," Tony says before Gibbs can say the same. He pulls up to the pump and cuts the engine. "Ziva and McGee, you're on snack duty. I want something with negative nutritional value. I'll get gas."

Ziva and McGee get out the car and walk into the gas station. Tony gets out of the car and starts pressing buttons on the pump. Gibbs walks around from the passenger side and leans against the side of the SUV as Tony starts to pump the gas.

"No orders for me?" Gibbs asks.

Tony grins. "No way. You're the boss, Boss."

"Seems like you've done a good job becoming the boss. They listen to you."

"Yeah." Tony looks towards the door of the gas station, grins when he sees McGee and Ziva in the front window holding up various candy bars. "I'm tired of being the boss, though."

"Oh?"

"Don't get me wrong, the power trip's a lot of fun, but I spent a lot more time getting bitched out by people than before you left." Tony looks at Gibbs. "We're still your team, Boss. I was just keeping us warm."

Gibbs thinks that over for a moment. "I didn't tell the SecNav about us," he says.

"Yeah, I noticed that."

"If you get your own team, we could…" Gibbs grits his teeth when the words get stuck in his throat. "We wouldn't be working in a subordinate and supervisor relationship. If you had your own team, we'd be on equal footing, and we could…be out."

Tony raises his eyebrows. "That sounds like it hurt to say." He reaches over and touches Gibbs' arm just above his wrist. "I don't want to be in charge of a team right now. Maybe at some point it'll be worth looking into, but I'm fine where I am."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure." Tony grins. "Hell, Ziva and McGee and Abby and Ducky know. Who else needs to? I like working with you, Boss. It let's me spend the day with you."

It's not fair, Gibbs thinks, that Tony wants to stick by him when he could easily find someone who could say such disgustingly romantic things back to him. "All right," he agrees. "If that's what you want."

"It is." And the happiness radiating from Tony broadcasts it's true. The gas pump clicks, and Tony reaches for the nozzle, bumping his arm against Gibbs' as he does so. "You're back. We should be re-instated sometime soon, and until then, we can come up with ways to keep ourselves occupied."

Gibbs snorts at Tony's tone. He's about to respond with a double-entendre, when Ziva and McGee come out of the gas station, both carrying cups in both hands and a plastic bag of snacks over one arm. "Think they bought the place out," Gibbs comments.

Tony looks up from screwing on the gas cap. "Good. I haven't had dinner, and I'm thinking it's probably best if we don't stop to eat."

Gibbs considers the calls he knows the SecNav is currently making. "No need to drive like a maniac—"

"Or you—"

"But keep your foot pressed down."

Tony holds up the car keys. "You can drive, you know."

"No. I'm still waiting for the call back."

"Cool." Tony reaches out when McGee gets in range, takes the soda from McGee's left hand and the bag of snacks. He peers into the bag and lets out an impressed whistle. "Chocolate caramel covered in chocolate? Good work, Probie."

"And Ziva's got those chips that taste like cheeseburgers," McGee tells him.

"And licorice," she says, handing Gibbs the travel cup of coffee in her right hand. "And something called Sixlets."

Gibbs groans. "Is there anything you got that won't destroy the lining on a man's stomach?"

Ziva blinks, all wid-eyed innocence. "I was under the impression that celebrations of this kind warranted terrible food choices."

"I've got a passable sandwich and a bag of potato chips in my bag, Boss," McGee says.

"Thank god for that," Gibbs mutters and takes a sip of his coffee so he can pretend not to see them trying to hide their amusement.

"Everybody in!" Tony declares around a mouthful of candy. "I'd like to get home before midnight!"

"You don't want to burn nightlight?" Ziva asks.

"Daylight," Tony corrects automatically. "You burn daylight."

Her brow creases in confusion. "How?"

"With matches," Tony replies. He eyes the sudden, blinding grin on McGee's face. "What?"

"Nothing," McGee says. "Just…glad we found you, Tony."

Tony's eyes widen in shock. "Yeah," he mumbles. "Thanks," he says more loudly. "I appreciate—"

"You're welcome," Ziva cuts him off.

Tony looks from McGee to Ziva to Gibbs. He smiles, then nods once . "All right. Let's go. Everybody pile in! Ziva, if you don't share some of those Sixlets with me, I'm going to bleach all your black shirts."

"And then I'll break your arm," Ziva replies conversationally.

The next hour in the car is full of banter and teasing, Tony is leading McGee and Ziva in a sing-a-long with a pop station while Gibbs looks on and wishes for a video camera and a way to see how the three of them became this team, when Gibbs' phone rings. Tony immediately shuts off the radio, Ziva and McGee go silent. Gibbs looks at the caller ID.

Jennifer Sheppard.

"Gibbs," he answers, all business.

"The SecNav just got off the phone with me," Jenny greets him. "I'm being put on suspension pending investigation into my work with Le Grenouille."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Jenny hisses. "The SecNav somehow got his hands on my confidential file on the matter—"

"Seems you have a security breach," Gibbs interrupts. "You should probably look into that."

"Shove it up your ass, Jethro," Jenny barks. "You are _retired_. DiNozzo was _justifiably_ fired. While McGee and Ziva have just enough of an excuse that I can't bring them up on insubordination charges, that does not excuse—"

"When does your suspension start?"

There's absolute silence on the line for five seconds. "Immediately," Jenny says, and Gibbs can picture her at her desk, one hand curled in a fist, her jaw clenched nearly shut.

"Guess I won't see you when I get back, then." Gibbs' phone beeps as Jenny starts to yell at him. He pulls it away from his ear. "It says I've got another call."

"Just push the button," Tony instructs him.

"Which button, DiNozzo? The whole phone is buttons."

Tony holds out his hand. Gibbs hands him the phone. Without looking away from the road, Tony pushes a button. "There. Whoever was calling you is now on the line, and the other call is on hold."

Gibbs takes back the phone. "Mr. Secretary," he says, "what can I do for you?"

"Director Sheppard's been suspended effective immediately," The SecNav tells him.

"I've heard."

"I thought you might have. She seemed to think you had something to do with it."

"What are her chances on reinstatement?"

"It depends on the file. I've only had the chance to give it a cursory review, but there are information gaps that need to be filled in, and given Sheppard's usually pristine reports, things are looking highly questionable."

"What about DiNozzo's reinstatement?"

"In the air, currently. Director Sheppard's argument of insubordination holds up to a certain extent—"

"She—"

"Jethro," the SecNav interrupts, "I'm not saying it will hold up all together. I'm saying that Sheppard's version of events need looking into." The SecNav takes a deep breath. "That being said, tell DiNozzo he probably has a week off."

Gibbs grins. "I will."

"As for you, there's no reason not to reinstate you beyond Sheppard's disagreement on the matter, but that'll be up to Assistant Director Vance for the time being. I'll be giving him a strong recommendation to put you back in the field as early as next week."

"Thank you, Sir."

The SecNav laughs. "Hell, Jethro, I didn't expect retirement to stick, but I didn't expect you to come back like this. Tell me you're sticking around long enough for me to start to forget this whole mess."

"I'm sticking around," Gibbs promises, and he sees Tony bite back a smile. "I owe you a beer, Sir."

"You owe me a brewery, Gibbs. I'll call you tomorrow once we start looking into things."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Talk to you soon, Gibbs."

Gibbs looks at his phone after the SecNav hangs up. "How do I get back to the other call?"

"Does it say you have another call waiting?" Tony asks.

"No."

"Then she hung up. Probably right about the time she realized you'd put her on hold."

Gibbs sticks his phone back in his pocket and turns in his seat so he can look around the headrest and see Ziva and McGee as well as Tony. "Jenny's been suspended starting immediately," he announces. "You two," he points to Ziva and McGee, "are probably clear to go back to work as early as tomorrow, but I'd say take whatever leave you put in for and wait for a call." Ziva and McGee nod. "DiNozzo and I should, if things play out, see you sometime next week."

"Where are you staying?" Ziva asks. "Neither of you have a place right now."

Gibbs starts to say they can get a hotel room, but he catches Tony's sudden flush. "What?" he asks.

"Your place is still intact," Tony says.

"I left Ducky instructions to put it on the market."

"I told Ducky to disregard the instructions," Tony admits. "And I sent my cleaning lady over once a week to air it out."

"Why the hell would you do a stupid thing like that?" Gibbs demands. "I was gone."

"Yeah." Tony flushes a deeper red. "I know."

"Worked out for the best, I suppose," Gibbs says, voice gruff. "Since I'm betting you made sure there was no way you could move back into your place."

"There's a waiting list at my place. I'm surprised it's still empty."

"The table's still there."

Tony glances at Gibbs, the flush slowly fading from my face. "We're gonna need to pick that up."

"You'd better believe it."

Silence settles in the car for a few minutes. Ziva rattles around in one of the snack bags. Gibbs leans back in his seat, watching traffic out the window. McGee clears his throat.

"Where's your stuff, Tony?" he asks. "Abby and I checked every storage facility within fifty miles, and we couldn't find your name anywhere."

"The cousin who shampooed the carpets, her business also includes moving services and storage."

"Abby said it was just a carpet-cleaning business."

"It is in the D.C. area. On Long Island, it's all three."

McGee leans back in his seat to think it over. "Something like that you'd have to plan, wouldn't you? Even with family connections, to get lost as quickly as you did, it takes pre-planning."

Tony scoffs. "Oh, Probie, when will you learn that I'm just that good?"

"But you're not."

Tony's shoulders tense. "I've had some practice," he says in the serious tone that always makes McGee look scared. "I'm as good as I say I am."

McGee gapes. Ziva leans over and closes his mouth. McGee shakes off her hand and leans forward so that his head pokes between the front seats. "Get out of practice," he barks in a fair imitation of Tony's own command voice, and then he throws himself back against his own seat.

Gibbs watches Tony flex his hands on the steering wheel. "I'll take it under advisement, Probie," Tony says, then clears his throat hard, reaches over and flicks on the radio.

*

Ducky calls as Tony takes the first exit towards Quantico. "I'm working late waiting for a toxicology on a young solider dead from suspicious circumstances, and I just received the most interesting e-mail from Assistant Director Vance."

"Give me the broad strokes, Duck."

"You're welcome back on the premises, and it appears that Director Sheppard is under investigation for misuse of NCIS resources."

"Good to know, Duck."

"Have a pleasant evening, Jethro."

"Good night, Duck." Gibbs closes his phone. "I'm allowed back on the premises," he says.

"Which leads to the logical conclusion that you will soon be reinstated," Ziva replies. "Yes?"

"Yeah. Sounds like."

"Good."

They drive the rest of the way in silence, Tony getting out of the SUV and walking into the rental office before the others can get their seatbelts undone. "I'll get the bill," he mumbles as he hurries away.

"Gibbs?" Ziva asks.

"Leave him alone," Gibbs orders. "He's had a rough few days."

"We all have," McGee grouses, but he stays put, leaning against the SUV and rubbing a hand over his face.

But you've had family before, Gibbs thinks. Rather than say it, he waves McGee and Ziva away. "Go home. Get some rest. You may be needed at work in the morning." They both hesitate. "Now." Gibbs snaps, and Ziva and McGee walk away, walking side-by-side to the bus stop up the street.

Tony comes outside, a tired grin on his face. "All right, the fees on the car are taken care of, and I called a cab while I was inside. Do Ziva and McGee need…" He trails off when he realizes Ziva and McGee aren't with Gibbs. "Where'd they go?"

"I sent them to find their own way home." Gibbs reaches out, hooks his arm around Tony's neck, and reels him in close.

"Thanks," Tony mumbles, nose brushing Gibb's neck before he straightens up. "I don't think I could handle more of Probie's puppy dog looks. Or more of Ziva's non-murderous looks."

"Figured as much," Gibbs replies, and he keeps his arm around Tony's neck until they have to get into the cab.

The cab ride is silent, save Gibbs giving his address and the radio station the cabbie is playing low. Tony leans against him, warming the whole side of him, and Gibbs watches Tony's face as they pass under the street lights. I'm sorry, he wants to say. I didn't mean to leave. Tony turns and looks at him. He's not smiling, but there's contentment in the way he puts his hand on Gibbs' knee.

The cabbie drops them off, and Gibbs watches Tony tip him at least twice the fare. "That was unnecessary," he says.

"I'm feeling generous," Tony replies, and he digs into his pocket for his key ring, unlocking Gibbs' door before Gibbs can figure out if he even still _has_ a house key.

"I've got the copy on here, too," Tony says as they step inside and Gibbs turns on the lights. He sorts through the keys. "You have your keys on you? You probably—" Tony raises his eyebrows when Gibbs snatches his keys from his hand and throws them across the room. "You're gonna have to help me find those."

"I'll get on that," Gibbs says and pulls at Tony's belt. "After sex."

"Hell, yes, after sex!" Tony strips off his shirt and toes off his shoes as Gibbs finishes with his belt. He slides his fingers down the buttons of Gibbs' shirt and starts unbuttoning it from the bottom. "Sheets should be clean," he says.

"Like I give a fuck, DiNozzo." Gibbs grabs Tony by the back of the neck, stumbles them towards the bedroom, lets Tony drag him into a hard, sucking kiss as they fall onto the bed.

"Fuck," Tony mutters when Gibbs bites his neck. He scratches his nails down Gibbs' back, slides his fingertips into the waistband of Gibbs' jeans, and trails his fingers around to the front, popping the button and lowering the zipper. "Missed you," He breathes into Gibbs' mouth as he yanks at Gibb's jeans.

"You, too," Gibbs replies, and he presses on Tony's biceps until he stops moving, then reaches down and opens and pulls off Tony's jeans and underwear before removing his own. He gives Tony's hip a smack, and Tony rotates on the bed so that he's laying the proper way. He grins and reaches out a hand.

"C'mere," Tony says, and then he's kissing Gibbs, soft and warm and just a little dangerous, with his teeth nipping on the corner of Gibbs' mouth. Tony arches against him, drapes a leg around Gibbs' hip and reels him in. He brings up his other leg and tightens his grip.

"We can't do much like this," Gibbs tells him as he cards a hand through Tony's hair and tilts his head to kiss him deeply.

"We can do enough." Tony proves his point by shifting his hips and pressing upward. His dick slides along the crease where Gibbs' left thigh meets his leg. Gibbs grunts and adjusts himself in the grip of Tony's legs.

"Ease up a little," Gibbs growls.

"Don't want to."

Gibbs presses his teeth into Tony's shoulder, grins when Tony yelps. Tony's legs loosen enough for Gibbs to get a hand between them, wrap it around both their dicks. Tony's eyes roll back when Gibbs presses just below the head of his dick. "That's it," Gibbs mutters. "You like that." Tony gives him a shaky smile, teeth clenching when Gibbs presses his weight down. "Too much?"

"N-n-no." Tony stutters. "Just…More." He groans when Gibbs squeezes his hand on the down stroke. "Yes," Tony whispers. Gibbs lifts his torso at the same time as he shifts the weight off his free arm to his hips. "Fuck," Tony moans. His legs tighten again, and he pulls at Gibbs' shoulders. "Come here," he begs. "Come here."

Gibbs takes his hand off of their dicks, plants it beside Tony's head, let's Tony pull him down so that they're cheek-to-cheek, Tony's ragged breath echoing in his ear.

"Gibbs," Tony breathes into his ear. "God, Gibbs."

Gibbs can't say anything. He's gritting his teeth, fingers gripping the sheet on either side of Tony's head. He thrusts, the combined sweat from their bodies making him lose purchase and shift the weight to his arms to keep from crushing Tony under his weight. "Tony," he gets out.

Tony rears up, chin nearly colliding with Gibbs' jaw as he takes a hard kiss, tongue wild in Gibbs' mouth, teeth scraping Gibbs' cheek as Tony gets knocked off course because Gibbs is pressing down harder, making his strokes shorter, grunting with the effort as he drops his weight to his hips, uncurls one hand from the sheets, and rakes his fingernails down Tony's side.

"Yes," Tony hisses. "Fucking _yes_." He pulls Gibbs in tighter still, arms clenching around his shoulders, hips coming off the bed. "C'mon," Tony growls. " _C'mon_."

Gibbs can't stop himself from coming, the raw edge in Tony's voice the final necessity for Gibbs' orgasm to take over. He lies limp against Tony, his breathing evening out as Tony squirms underneath him and pokes him in the side.

"Some of us have stamina," he says, and he looks completely unrepentant when Gibbs tries to glare at him. "Little help?"

Gibbs grunts and slides off Tony, settling on his side. "Come here," he says, and Tony curls close to him, sliding one of his legs through Gibbs'. He closes his eyes when Gibbs curls a hand around him. "Easy," Tony murmurs, and Gibbs loosens his hold, watching Tony close his eyes and smile, watches a shudder work its way from Tony's legs to his hips to his stomach and his chest. When it gets up to his neck, Gibbs leans in, bites softly, noses behind Tony's ear. "Missed you," he whispers, so quiet he's not sure Tony can hear him over his own panting.

It's another two minutes, Tony's breathing getting more erratic, his groans getting deeper, and then he's coming, eyes screwed shut and hands tight on Gibbs' shoulders. Gibbs watches him come down, feels the phantom pressure of Tony's hands as he loosens his hold on Gibbs' shoulders.

"I missed you, too." Tony says at a normal speaking level.

Gibbs wrestles the blanket out from under both of them, pulls it to cover them up to the waist as he puts a hand on Tony's arm to keep him from shifting away. "C'mere," he says, and Tony slides over, lines up against Gibbs' side, and hooks an arm around Gibbs' waist.

"'Night," Tony mumbles, and he's asleep in another minute, the arm around Gibbs' waist going slack and becoming heavy. If Gibbs breathes too deeply in the night, there's a good chance it'll wake Tony up.

"'Night," Gibbs says to the ceiling, and he closes his eyes.

*

Gibbs comes awake to the smells of coffee and bacon. He slips on his boxers from the day before, digs his cell out of his pants pocket, and walks into the kitchen. "Since when do you get out of bed before me?"

Tony glances over his shoulder, a metal bowl tucked into the crook of his elbow, a whisk in his other hand. "Team supervisors don't get to wander in late," he replies. "Figured that out after I showed up one morning, and McGee and Ziva were playing paper football because I hadn't assigned them anything to keep them busy."

"Yeah," Gibbs says with a grin, "they do that." He looks over Tony's shoulder to the countertop. There are bits of onion on the cutting board, a paper bag from the local grocery store has eggshells on the edge. The coffee pot is filled to the top. "You kept everything here? Even the kitchen stuff?"

"Not the food. I ran out for that." Tony says, concentrating on whisking the eggs. "I'm a sap," he adds at Gibbs' raised eyebrows. "Let's leave it at that."

Gibbs wraps an arm around Tony's waist, presses against his back and watches him pour the eggs into a skillet. "I—"

"Apologies make you look weak," Tony interrupts. "And if you actually give one, your jaw will clench shut for a week."

"Tony—"

"You're a bastard," Tony says, and there's affection in his tone, "and I know this. Don't try to make amends you don't need to make."

"I left."

"And I'm okay with that." Tony pokes at the eggs with a fork. "Because the next time you do it, I'm shooting out your knees." Tony says it playfully, but there's a promise in his undertone. He might not shoot him, Gibbs thinks, but he'll let Gibbs go and not take him back. Gibbs is certain he'd rather give up his knees.

"Okay," Gibbs says, and he steps away from Tony to get plates from the cupboard.

Three-quarters of the way through his half of the omlet, Gibbs' phone rings. He answers it as he smacks Tony's hand away from his plate with his fork. "Gibbs."

"Agent Gibbs, this is acting Director Vance."

"What can I do for you, Director?" Gibbs asks. At his question, Tony stops trying to steal bites of his omlet. The hand not holding his fork curls into a fist. Gibbs pokes at it with his fork, and Tony opens his hand again.

"I've just been informed by the SecNav that if I wish, I can have you and Agent DiNozzo as full-time field agents."

"And?" Gibbs prompts.

"How's Thursday work for you? I'd give you the week, but I'm two agents short since you two aren't in rotation, and David and McGee are out for the week on recommended leave."

"Thursday," Gibbs repeats. He raises his eyebrows at Tony. Tony nods. "Thursday's fine."

"Good. Now, can you tell me the best way to get in touch with Agent DiNozzo? His phone's off."

"We're grabbing breakfast. I'll relay the information."

"Appreciate it. Have a good day, Agent Gibbs. I'll see you Thursday."

"Yes, Sir." Gibbs cuts the call and points a finger at DiNozzo. "Your phone's still of."

"Shit." Tony stands up and walks to the bedroom. Gibbs listens to him toss around clothes. After a moment of silence, the tone of Tony's phone turning on carries down the hall. "I have twenty-one missed calls," Tony calls down the hall.

"Most of them are probably Abby," Gibbs replies.

Tony walks back into the room, phone in one hand. "Six," he says. "Three on Saturday. Two on Sunday. One on Monday. McGee and Ziva both called six times, and Ducky called twice. One is from Vance, and two are from Madame Director." Tony pulls a face. "From Friday. She left a message on the second one."

Gibbs stands up and walks over to Tony. Taking the phone, he presses buttons until the voicemail activates. "Delete them," he orders.

Tony presses the zero until the phone beeps. "All gone." He smiles. "Do I get a cookie?"

"You get the rest of my omlet," Gibbs tells him. "Eat quick. Vance wants us back in the office on Thursday, and we need to get organized."

Tony groans as he steals Gibbs' leftovers from his plate. "I need to find a place," he says.

"No you don't."

Tony looks up, a piece of egg dangling from the corner of his mouth. "What?"

Gibbs wants to repeat it, but he can't. "You heard me, DiNozzo. Offer's on the table."

"The table's still at my old place," Tony replies, and there's mischief and happiness in his eyes.

Gibbs grins. He leans across the table and wipes the egg from the corner of Tony's mouth. "Five minutes and we're out the door. We're wasting daylight."

"On it." Tony shovels down the rest of his breakfast, gulps his coffee in three quick swallows. He crowds Gibbs back against the kitchen wall and pecks him on the mouth. "Give me two minutes to put on my pants."

Gibbs reels him in before he can do more than back away a step. He looks at Tony from a distance of six inches. Say it, he thinks, but he knows he won't. He grips Tony's wrist instead, strokes the tendon below his thumb.

"You too, Gibbs," Tony says, and he lets his hand trail behind him as he pulls away. "Two minutes," he says, and Gibbs nods in agreement, following Tony down the hall so he can get dressed himself, and thinking, as they get into the car and start the trip across town, where, exactly, the table can go. And where to build the shelves for Tony's DVDs.


End file.
